


if you only knew

by centaur, witchofspaz



Series: bad decisions [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Love at First Sight, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 15:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16998045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centaur/pseuds/centaur, https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchofspaz/pseuds/witchofspaz
Summary: In which fifteen-year-old Dirk Lalonde meets poor unsuspecting art teacher Dave Strider for the first time, and we learn that he has never had any chill at all (but Dave used to, kind of.)(Prequel to "risky business" and "say my name")





	if you only knew

**Author's Note:**

> surprise bonus minific!!!!!! we are hard at work on the next full-length "bad decisions" fic, but we were thinking it's a shame y'all never got to see any of baby dirk's shenanigans. this particular fic (and the whole au) started life as a dwrp psl and although unfortunately never got very far with it, there was (modestly) some good god damn shit in there, so we cut together the first thread, edited it and spruced it up into a proper fic. it was a lot of fun and i'm extremely proud of the result. hope u enjoy! xoxo kelsey/witchofspaz

Dirk Lalonde has never harbored any particular desire to take a photography course. Photography is fine, he supposes, but his real interest lies in other media, like textile arts and drawing. It won’t contribute to his career goals, and he doesn’t really need it on his transcripts to get into college. He's not even sure he'll be any good at it—actually, nah, that's just knee-jerk humility. He _will_ be good at it, because there's no way he’s gonna let some Instagram-famous pseudo-artist with filtered pumpkin spice latte photos topple his average. “Average”, of course, meaning that he’s the top student in all his classes. 

As a lowly underclassman, Dirk doesn't get a whole lot of free will in his schedule. It was either get shunted into Home Ec, making “surprise” burgers and green bean casserole with some ancient, likely racist crone, which sounded like the worst kind of elective hell, or take photography. He's never met the more junior of the school’s art teachers, but word in the halls is that he's pretty chill and young. Sounds good.

Unfortunately, word in the halls didn't prepare Dirk for the dude being more _pretty_ than anything else. Dirk walks briskly into the classroom right as the bell stops ringing and nearly trips on his own feet when he catches sight of his new teacher. Are his classmates blind or even dumber than he realized? The photography teacher is a stone cold fox, and no one bothered to warn him. He stares, stupidly, before realizing he needs to find a seat. 

Jesus christ, he's taking photography from a dude straight out of his literal wet dreams. He’s never been quite sure if his fixation on blondes is some kind of fucked up subverted desire to fit in with his pasty white, naturally towheaded adoptive family, or just an inborn preference. Either way, it’s definitely rearing its horny head right this moment, and only his stellar multitasking abilities save him when the brand new star of his sexual fantasies introduces himself as “Dave. Uh, Mr. Strider” and starts explaining the class, handing out syllabi, and taking roll. While a small, administrative section of his brain notes down all that boring shit, the rest is occupied with planning out the logistics of getting with a much older man who also happens to be his teacher. His own age is suddenly the biggest obstacle that Dirk has ever faced. It might even be impossible to surmount, but he is always up for challenges. He wants to climb Mr. Strider like Mount fuckin’ Everest...

By the end of class, Dirk is nursing an extremely dangerous crush and a brain full of wild teenage fantasies. He hangs around after the bell rings, shuffling his backpack around his shoulders to stall. Play it cool, Dirk. 

“Hey, Mr. Strider, can I ask you a few questions?”

The teacher looks up from the papers he's shuffling on his desk. “Ah, uh, of course,” he says, a little awkwardly, but warmly. “It's Dirk, right? Lalonde?”

“Uh,” replies Dirk intelligently. This teacher is so hot he's making Dirk forget his own damn name. Dirk’s attraction to him is so much more intense up close, now that Dirk is the focus of his attention and he's using that stereotypical “nice teacher” voice, like it's the start of a bad porno. He wishes.

“Uh, yeah,” he finally manages. “It's Dirk. You're right.” Nice recovery, asshole. Where the hell was he going with this plan? He tries to come up with a seemingly normal sounding question on the fly. “Do you have a tardiness policy? ‘Cause I come from the other end of campus and my robotics class before this occasionally runs late.” Dirk settles his nerves down by sheer force of will and shifts his weight casually. “I was also wondering about your grading scale and whether or not you're single.” Fucking nailed it.

The teacher’s open expression shuts down immediately. His spine straightens and he resumes organizing the papers on his desk with terse, calculated focus.

"This isn’t my first rodeo, bucko," he says stiffly. Damn, okay. Mr. Strider’s tone and body language say _big mistake_ , but Dirk can’t help but enjoy the analogy. 

His mouth spins out, “You do a lot of riding, bro?” before his brain can rein it in, knowing the moment it leaves his lips that it was very much the wrong thing to say to a teacher, especially one who’s already mad at him.

“I’ve dealt with shitheads like you before, Lalonde,” Mr. Strider replies coldly. “Straight boys who heard the rumors about me liking dudes and thought they could seduce me to get whatever grades they want, or just straight up blackmail me, ‘cause no one wants a homo teaching their kids, right?” Whoa. What? “Sorry, ‘bro.’ I don’t fuck kids, and the headmaster has known me since I was younger than you. He already knows I’m bi, and he’s sure as shit not gonna fire me over it.”

Well, it wasn't like he expected his flirting to be reciprocated. As little regard as he has for age as a social construct, he is aware that he’s only 15 and that his rather young, but still very much adult art teacher probably enjoys being employed—and not in prison for statutory offenses. Shit, though, it would have been nice to know about the bisexuality prior to this interaction. He definitely should have gathered more intel prior to attempting to flirt, but if none of his peers had the good sense to mention that Mr. Strider was a straight up snack, how trustworthy could any of their other info actually be? 

Mr. Strider looks like he’s about to finish him off with a brutal combo starting with a vicious _‘And another thing’_ , so Dirk hurriedly holds his hands up, palms out in a gesture of surrender.

“Hold up, hold up. I’m _really_ sorry,” he says with true sincerity. He even inflects more than his usual, trying to sound peaceful and, more importantly, passive. “That’s genuinely not where I was headed, I swear.” 

There is enough of a pause for Dirk to feel like he’s slogging to the shore of shit’s creek instead of wading knee deep in the middle. He pushes forward, aiming to save his ass. “And, just for the record, I’m not straight. Kind of uncool of you to make that assumption.”

“Oh.” The newly minted object of Dirk’s affections is momentarily flummoxed, and obviously deeply embarrassed by his misunderstanding. “Shit, sorry. You’re right. That wasn’t cool.” He pushes his bangs off his forehead and Dirk allows himself to feel relieved that the attack has now been called off. “Uh. Sorry I cussed, also. I’m not really supposed to do that around students. Kinda lost my chill.”

Dirk waves it off. No biggie. “If it's any consolation,” he tacks on soothingly, “I haven't heard any rumors about you. I just find you really attractive.” He shrugs apologetically, like he's sorry-not-sorry for being honest. The way Mr. Strider’s shoulder’s slump in relief and then immediately tense up again is adorable. Dirk wants to lean over and bite his naturally pouty lower lip. “I get it though, and I didn't mean to piss you off or upset you. I'll back off. Can we just pretend I was making a bad joke about single exposures?” He mostly means it. He's relatively cowed by Mr. Strider’s unexpected anger, and taking it slow seems to be the smartest way to go, anyway.

“Sure,” Dave says slowly. “You were making a bad joke. A very bad joke.” Dirk can practically see the wheels whirring in his head, deciding to accept that lame excuse in his desperate desire to escape an uncomfortable situation. So fucking cute.

“So bad.” A faint smile curves his lips. “I didn’t read the room. Not the right audience for shitty camera jokes.”

Dave’s forehead scrunches as he squints at Dirk with uncertainty. “Maybe you’d have better material if you actually understood how to use a camera.” 

“Interesting idea. Maybe I’ll take a class.” This is acceptable progress; his target is suspicious of his intentions, but he's not shutting Dirk out yet. Dirk happens to like long-term projects, and he feels hopeful that he might be able to get somewhere with this one, given time and a lot of patience. He has both in spades. “Anyway, thanks for being chill, Mr. Strider.” 

Maybe just a little push for now. He lets his smile get a little wider, friendly and joking. “Or can I call you Dave?”

“No,” Dave instantly shuts down, his voice firm. “I think you'd better call me Mr. Strider.” His professional face is back on. “If you really have a class on the other side of campus, that's no problem as long as I can see you've been hustling. And my grading scale is covered in the syllabus. Don't you have another class to get to?” He’s covering well, but he’s definitely a little jumpy.

Dirk snorts softly, letting his amusement show on his face. “Actually, it’s my study period right now. Trying to get rid of me, Mr. Strider?” He puts a sinuous promise into the respectful title, making it sound just as intimate as a given name.

“Not at all,” Dave rushes to assure him. “I just have work to do,” he continues, and maybe it’s even true. “Maybe we can chat another day.”

“I'd like that a lot,” Dirk says, sounding sweetly hopeful. He can play innocent perfectly well, when he wants to. “I'm always around this period, so.” 

“Plenty of opportunities to get to know each other,” Dave says distractedly, eyeing the door like he’s hoping Dirk will go through it very soon.

“Looking forward to it.” That is absolute sincerity: he can’t wait to get to know Dave. 

He gets a carefully bland look in response, and Dave begins meaningfully shuffling papers again while waiting for Dirk to leave. “See you tomorrow then, Dirk.”

There is only so much stalling Dirk can do without fucking himself over. He flashes Dave a sly and scheming smile and lifts his eyebrows over his shades. “I'll catch you later, D—my bad. _Mr. Strider.”_ His word choice is layered with meaning and his correction carries not a hint of remorse, tossing Dave a glance over his shoulder as he breezes out of the classroom.

High school is going to be more worthwhile than he previously imagined.


End file.
